AFTERMATH: A CONTINUED ENDING TO "SHANKLIN"
by Carla K
Summary: Wracked by guilt, Ben Cartwright finds comfort from an unexpected source.


AFTERMATH: A CONTINUED ENDING TO "SHANKLIN"

AFTERMATH: A CONTINUED ENDING TO "SHANKLIN"

A Bonanza Story by Carla Keehn

Introduction: In the 13th season episode, "Shanklin", the Ponderosa is invaded by a renegade band of Confederate soldiers who are desperate for money to rebuild their dream of a new Confederacy. I never liked how the scriptwriters ended that episode. This story is another and, hopefully, more satisfying ending to that story.

* * * *

Ben Cartwright watched silently as Doc Martin's carriage rode away from the sprawling ranch house. As the carriage disappeared from view, the white haired man felt the last of his strength fail and he slumped over in despair. The dreams and hopes that he had worked a lifetime to build had been snatched away from the patriarch of the Cartwright family in a matter of hours.

The world around him was in ruins, his sons injured - the twisted handiwork of Shanklin and the brutal men who had forced their way into and taken over the Cartwright home. 

__

Shanklin . . . Just the thought of the man's name caused the fire of hatred to burn uncontrollably inside of the worried father. Embittered by the South's loss to the North and crazed over his wife and son's death at the hands of Union soldiers, Shanklin and his renegade band of men had taken over the Ponderosa swiftly and with great violence. Shanklin's dream was to rebuild the Confederacy so that the wrongs committed against the South during the war could be righted. It was a futile dream, the product of the madness that had totally consumed Shanklin's mind . . .

The glint of sunlight against a shard of broken glass caught Cartwright's attention, forcing the memories aside. 

The pictures of his family had been swept to the floor and his desk overturned when Shanklin's men had decided to break into Cartwright's safe. _Elizabeth, Inga, Marie . . ._ he thought bitterly as he took the torn photographs from the broken frames. The daily reminders that he kept of his beloved wives had been trampled on, like the dirt outside.

Cartwright moaned softly. He'd faced many trials in his life. But the pain of the ordeal he'd just lived through cut Ben Cartwright to the core. The world suddenly looked different, tainted by the violence and bloodshed that he'd just witnessed.

Shanklin and his men had behaved like animals, their depravities fueled by liquor and by the unexpected upswing in their living conditions. But in the sickness of Shanklin's mind there was also the cunning of a military genius. It took little effort and planning for the renegades to overpower Hoss and take over the ranch.

Just then the sound of footsteps crunching on the broken glass interrupted the man's thoughts. Cartwright stiffened, his hand moving swiftly to the gun at his side.

He looked up and saw his old friend, Clem Foster, standing in the doorway. Foster had a look of stunned disbelief on his face.

The Sheriff finally spoke. "I don't know what to say, Ben." 

Cartwright sucked in a ragged breath. "Shanklin's dead, you have his men in custody - I don't expect that there's much else left to say, Clem." 

The silence between the two was heavy. Foster wanted to offer his friend some kind of comfort but the words didn't come. The shock of the destruction wrought on his friend's family and home were visibly etched on Cartwright's face. He knew that no words could erase the pain the older man was feeling at that moment.

"I'll stay on a bit if, you don't mind and give you a hand with the clean-up."

Cartwright stared at the man for a long moment. The enormity of his loss had left him raw. The thought of having to share his feelings with Clem or anyone else was unbearable.

He shook his head. "That's a mighty nice offer, Clem, but no thanks. I think I'll just sort through things here on my own for the time being."

Cartwright's voice sounded old to Clem. And then it suddenly struck him that the way the older man was carrying himself had changed too. The Ben Cartwright he knew was a fighter, a man used to persevering no matter what the circumstances. 

"I reckon you know what's best, Ben." Foster said reluctantly. "Whether you like it or not, though, I'm gonna have some of my men stay behind and help out with things outside until the hands get back," Foster continued unsteadily. 

Cartwright nodded slowly. "You won't hear any arguments from me, Clem. And I thank you - the boys and I sure do appreciate the help."

It struck Clem suddenly, that the Ben Cartwright he saw now looked beaten, his shoulders sagging with defeat. The sudden change in his friend frightened Foster.

"I'll stop back later, see how things are." 

And then the Sheriff was gone and the older man was again alone to wrestle with his troubled thoughts. 

Cartwright again studied the discarded photographs. The three women had placed their trust in him by giving Ben Cartwright the greatest gift of all, a son. And then the Lord had seen fit to bless him yet again with Jamie. And he had betrayed them all - - not only his wives but his maker, by failing to safeguard the treasures that he'd been given . . .

* * * *

Ben Cartwright forced himself to rise, to shove aside the thoughts that were tormenting him like an iron entering his soul. As he stumbled across the room, his eyes came to rest on the cut glass decanter that rested on the table in front of him. 

The amber colored fluid beckoned at him seductively, like a temptress intent on snaring her victim. The only thing he wanted was release from the pain that tore at him like an insatiable thirst. 

Cartwright reached out and, with his shaking hands, brought the decanter to his lips. He took a generous swallow of the brandy. The warmth of the liquor spread through him like a fire. He took another swallow, then another - - praying each time that the numbing relief he sought would follow.

He tightened his grip on the now almost empty decanter. Given a choice between losing himself to an alcoholic haze or facing the overwhelming task of having to rebuild the life that he cherished, the brandy was the most desirable of choices.

His thoughts continued to spin out of control. Cartwright recalled acquaintances from the past, lesser men who had succumbed to the lure of the saloons when faced with adversity. He'd always prided himself at being stronger, at being able to soldier on, no matter what cards life dealt him. 

But this time was different. It wasn't the loss of the material things - the shattered glass, the broken furniture, all of that, and more, could be replaced. He realized that the hopelessness he felt was because of his sons. The three of them, Hoss, Joe and Jamie, all injured. Although Joe and Jamie's injuries were minor, Hoss had a long and difficult recovery ahead of him. 

__

I should have been here with them from the start, instead of spending the day in town . . . Cartwright berated himself. _ Should have been here to protect them . . ._

How could he face any of his sons again? Guilt tore at Cartwright. How could he claim to love his offspring when he wasn't there for them when they needed him the most?

He raised the decanter again. He didn't want to think anymore. For the moment, he was content to let the comforting arms of the brandy console him.

Then, just as the liquid touched his lips, Cartwright was distracted by a sound from upstairs. 

There wasn't anyone in the house besides him and the boys. Clem's deputies had seen to that. And Doc Martin had assured him that his sons were resting comfortably in their rooms in a drugged sleep.

He heard the sound again. A curious thumping noise that sounded like someone was trying to break through the ceiling above him.

The spell of the decanter was broken. Cartwright set the decorative glass bottle aside and withdrew his gun from its holster . . .

* * * *

The sound continued in a steady rhythm as Cartwright walked up the stairs. He paused at the top landing to get his bearings. 

The noise was coming from Hoss' room at the other end of the hall. 

His jaw tightly set, the older man turned and headed towards the source of the noise. 

Cartwright paused outside of the door, his hand tightening convulsively on the butt of his gun. Unsure of what might be waiting on the other side, he gathered himself up, then shoved the door open.

It wasn't an intruder . . .

Cartwright's worried eyes watched as Hoss grabbed the night-table next to the bed. The roughly hewn table groaned in protest while his son tried to use the furniture for leverage in an attempt to pull his injured body up from the bed.

"Hoss!" There was alarm in Ben's voice. He rushed over to the bed and fought to restrain his son, forcing Hoss back against the soft pillows. 

Hoss kept shaking his head and tried to push his father's interfering hands away. "No, get away . . . gotta get help . . ."

"No son, you shouldn't be up - -"

In the pain of Hoss' mind, he was still trapped with the evil Shanklin. "Get away!" His breath came in ragged gasps. "Or I'll kill you . . . for what you've done to us - -"

The brandy was beginning to work, causing confusion in the older man's mind. His son's words stabbed at Cartwright like a red hot poker. It was just as he feared - He'd been tried - - and found guilty - - by Hoss and probably his other sons as well. His worst nightmares had become a reality. Instead of being a source of comfort, Hoss was pushing him away. 

Ben's thoughts continued to wander unchecked. What would Joe and Jamie's reaction be when they woke up? Would they also see his failure as a father and reject him?

Cartwright fought to keep his composure. "No, Hoss, you have to stay in 

bed - -"

The fight suddenly drained out of Hoss as his father's voice penetrated the feverish delirium of his mind. He slumped back against the pillows. "Pa?" A look of pained recognition flashed across Hoss' face. He raised a shaky hand and wiped the beads of sweat away from his eyes. 

"I'm here . . ." The sight of his son's debilitated condition was too much for Ben. The older man's voice broke. "I'm sorry, son, I should have been here for you . . . for your brothers . . ." He paused, waiting for more words of reproach, words that he was certain would come.

Hoss became animated again, shaking his head. "Don't go . . . blaming yourself Not . . . your fault, Pa . . . "

"I - I wish I could be sure of that," Cartwright murmured unsteadily. In the long moments of waiting that he'd suffered through while Doc Martin was treating his sons, Ben had replayed the incident with Shanklin over and over, thinking of ways that he could have ended the siege and changed the outcome for his family. 

Ben sighed heavily. Maybe it would just be easier to give in to the despair he felt. In the long run, going over the what-ifs and hoping to make things right with his sons seemed to be the worst of all evils. What would it accomplish, except to prolong the torment he felt?

"There was nothin' that you . . . or any of us coulda' done different . . ." 

Ben let out a labored breath. There was no blame, no reproach in the words that his son spoke. 

"What happened . . . don't matter none, Pa . . ." Hoss continued in a strained voice. "Like you . . . always told us, the only thing that matters is that we got each other . . . things'll set themselves to rights again . . . you'll see . . ."

The words had a tranquilizing effect on him as they touched the inner recesses of Ben's troubled soul. For the first time in many hours, the burden of guilt that Ben had been carrying felt lighter.

"Rest now, son," Ben replied comfortingly. "You need to rest so your body can heal."

Even though the abrupt turn of Fortune's wheel had rocked the Cartwright family to its core and Ben had been pushed to the brink of despair by Shanklin, he was grateful beyond words for the simple truth recited by Hoss. They were a much needed reminder of something that he'd lost sight of - the trust that bound Ben and his sons together were strong enough to weather any storm, no matter how severe the family's trial might be.

The worried father glanced down and realized that Hoss had given in to the effects of the sleeping potion. Satisfied that his son was settled for the moment, Cartwright rose to his feet. There was a lot of work that needed to be done.

For Ben Cartwright, the crisis had passed. He left the room, eager to sweep away, once and for all, any reminders of Shanklin and the terrible havoc the man's presence had brought to his family. 

The End


End file.
